


Four Rules for the Mutant Town Hustler (Erik's Manifesto Remix)

by likeadeuce



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Humor, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's a crack AU, let's say they're all of age.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Four Rules for the Mutant Town Hustler (Erik's Manifesto Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cm (mumblemutter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Do you have any other skills? (Like typing?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/377828) by [cm (mumblemutter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm). 



> It's a crack AU, let's say they're all of age.

_1\. Comply with all government regulations regarding disclosure and informed consent, i.e., "Before engaging in a personal services contract with a non-mutant, any mutant service provider must disclose the precise nature of his/her mutant abilities, and the resulting actual or potential effects of said abilities upon the performance of specified personal services."_

"Him?" says Charles, jabbing a thumb toward Erik while trying to keep on his most winning smile. "He's the master of magnetism."

"Huh." The (potential) john brushes hair off his sweat-soaked forehead with a nervous hand. Charles tries not to think about the sweatiness. He's been doing this long enough to stop being precious about that kind of thing. Sweat is just a normal physiological process. Like the growling noises his stomach makes when he doesn't have anything to feed it, which has happened more often than he'd like, lately. Charles waggles his eyebrows in a gesture he's been told is winning, but the john is still examining Erik. "What's that good for? What can you do with it? Handcuffs and shit?"

"He's actually not the one –" Charles ventures.

"Hypothetically." The man has still barely looked at Charles.

"Hypotheticall," Erik says, "I could extract all the iron from your blood. Which would be excruciating, though only for a few seconds. Before it killed you."

"Oh." 

"Hypothetically."

"Of course." The man gets to his feet abruptly, and before Charles can raise any kind of mental barrier, he's hit with a rush of contradictory impulses: fear of pain, anticipation of pain, fear of discovery and such an enormous rush of arousal that Charles has to close his eyes and start reciting the cricket statistics he's memorized as a preventive measure against getting started too early. The john, clearly trying to calm himself, mumbles a question that Charles can't quite make out.

"Oh, him?" Erik says. "He reads minds."

"We have got to talk," Charles says, when the man has cleared out and left them sitting on the curb, "about your sales pitch." 

_2\. Protect your territory_

"No," says Erik.

Hank rolls his lanky shoulders and rocks back on his wide feet. "You don't even know what I was going to ask." He's trying not to sound wounded by Erik's indifference; Charles doesn't need telepathy to understand that, though as it happens, the psychic aroma of Hank's just wanting them all to be friends is making it hard to focus on anything else.

"I'm perfectly aware what you're going to ask," says Erik. "The answer is still 'no.' I don't want to join forces. Have a team up. Go into business together. _Share_." He said the last word like it was something contemptible and vaguely disgusting, the way you might expect a normal person (whatever that means) to talk about what Erik and Charles (try to) do for a living.

Charles leans back, attempting to talk past Erik as he says to Hank, "He's not really into sharing."

"The thing is –" Hank glances at Erik, like he's not entirely sure it's advisable to ignore this very solid, very scowly young man, but then turns back to Charles, who he's decided is the persuadable one. "It would sort of be doing you guys a favor. I mean, you've got a nice bit of territory here but that's, what, the third potential john who's walked away from here and ended up with –" He clears his throat. "Summers."

Erik makes a noise in his throat, and Charles quickly says, "It isn't Alex's fault." 

"The thing is," Hank continues, "There are three of us, and Darwin even has his own car and we're doing okay. It just seems like you guys –"

They're interrupted by the audible growl of Charles's stomach. Hank and Erik both look at him; he wonders why his mutant power couldn't be melting into the sidewalk.

"We're good," says Erik shortly. "We're just about to break for dinner."

The approach of dinner is news to Charles, but he quickly chimes in. "Yes, any minute now." He tries not to acknowledged the sympathetic look Hank gives him before loping back to his own side of the street. Charles tries, in general, not to examine his impressions of how the other group views his relations with Erik. He suspects they feel sorry for him, and he doesn't quite know how he would convey that this is the wrong way to look at things. Charles has options. He's here, with Erik, because he wants to be. Erik takes care of him. Speaking of which. "You said something about dinner, then?" Charles asks hopefully.

"Oh," Erik says. "Right." He turns his back toward the street and reaches into the pocket of his worn leather jacket to produce…

"Crackers," Charles tries to keep his tone as nonjudgmental as possible. "Where did you find those?"

"The salad bar at the deli on the corner. They let you take as many as you want." Erik pauses. "At least – they didn't stop me."Erik looks genuinely pleased with his own ingenuity. 

Charles just stares, trying to think of something to say. "I have a very fast metabolism," he offers, resignedly.

"Maybe you should try slowing it down. A few days on crackers and water should do the trick."

"There's water?" Charles asks hopefully.

"The diner up there." He pointed to a spot several blocks up hill. "There's a nice redhead waitress who will help you out. I think she likes me."

Charles starts to walk away, then turns back to Erik. "Can I get you anything?" He's trying to keep the sarcasm in check. To be honest, though, he's not trying very hard.

"That's all right," says Erik. "I'll keep an eye on the territory." 

 

_3\. Keep your eyes open for new opportunities_

"You don't really fit in here," says Charles.

The newcomer turns to him, and tosses a wave of dark hair. "You don't know that. My mutation might be hidden."

"Your mutation might be. But unless you're the best I've ever seen, you don't have much room to disguise anything else." Charles looks meaningfully at her skintight dress and very short skirt. 

"Don't bother the new boy, Charles," Erik says. "She might _be_ the best you've ever seen." He glances at the brunette. "Or 'he' might be. Which do you prefer?"

"I'm female," she sighs. "That is, I was born female and _not_ mutant, and I'm well aware this is a boys only corner and this is a stupid disguise but I don't have any backup. Stupid department. I _might_ hate my job more than you boys do."

"We like our job," Erik and Charles say, a bit too uncannily in unison. Then Charles ventures, "You're Mutant Affairs, then?" 

"Yes. Moira McTaggart. I’m supposed to be down here making sure everyone properly reveals their mutations."

"He's the master of magnetism," says Charles.

"He reads minds," says Erik.

"And I can save you some time." Charles points across the street. "Alex is a devious arsehole and also he …makes the bed shake or something. Darwin can do basically anything _and_ he has a car, and Hank. . .well he has very big feet? Which is probably not that useful of a mutation, but it's said to be a sign of something else if you know what I mean."

"I know," the woman says hastily.

Charles wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, adding, "Erik also has big feet.”

"All right," says Erik.

 _Do you really think she hates her job?_ Charles asks Erik, telepathically.

 _Well_ , Erik responds. _She's better at hers than we are at ours._

"This is ridiculous," Moira says, and starts to walk away. Then she stops, turns back to examine them, and reaches into her microsize purse for a business card. "If you ever get tired of working corners, give me a call." She looks up in the direction of an ancient, foreboding house, the one place in this neighborhood where people get out of nice cars wearing fancy clothes. "I'd much rather spend my time infiltrating the Hellfire Club."

_4\. Don't confuse sex with affection._

"No," says Erik.

"Sorry," Charles mumbles, pulling his mouth away from Erik's, and scooting backwards. He's straddling Erik's lap, and he thinks he must have rubbed against a sensitive area prematurely. As much as he'd like to explore the pressure against his inner thigh, there's time for that.

Erik tightens his large hands against Charles's hips and pulls him forward. "No, that was fine." The insistent pulse of Charles's own erection almost makes it hard to think about Erik's. 

"Good, then." Charles leans back in for another kiss, but he's brought short by Erik's hand on his breastbone.

"No," Erik says again, turning his head to the side.

"Oh!" Charles says. "Oh, it's all right. I haven't got a cold anymore. He smiles and gives a healthy inhale/exhale to demonstrate his unobstructed breathing.

Erik rolls his head back and does the raised-eyebrows, tight-lipped thing that's the closest he usually comes to laughing. "It isn't that, it's –" He shakes his head. "You really don't remember? The manifesto."

It takes Charles a second because in its original form, Erik's Manifesto included lots of rules about mixing business with pleasure, which would have precluded exactly what the two of them are doing now. They've clearly broken that one, and Charles has rather assumed the rest of them went out the window as well. He has to rummage around in his memory before he comes up with a suggestion. "No kissing?" Charles says, incredulous. 

"Yes, you see, I always believed – in this business – conflation of sexuality and intimacy." He's basically mumbling a bunch of nonsense, as far as Charles can tell, and finishes up with, "Standard practice."

"That's not even a real thing!" Charles objects. "People just think that's a thing because of _Pretty Woman_."

"Because of who?" Erik says, blankly.

" _Pretty Woman_. Julia Roberts and Richard Gere? He hires her to be his date for a week and she'll service him but no kissing. It's basically the only thing most people in America know about prostitution if they don't have direct experience, or HBO. I always assumed it was bullshit."

"We have direct experience," Erik points out. "And anyway, it was in my manifesto."

"I thought that was a joke. Because of _Pretty Woman_. You mean, you really don't kiss your clients?"

"You mean you _do_?" The eyebrows and the pressed lips again. "Sometimes I really don't understand how I got into this business. And I definitely don't understand how you did."

It's not the kind of thing Charles likes to give a lot of thought to, either. Instead, he leans in hopefully and says, "Kissing though? Would you like to try it?"

Erik at least looks like he has to think about it. Then he says, "I have another idea." He pushes Charles out of his lap, gently, and Charles gets obligingly to his knees. He reaches for Erik's zipper, but Erik again says, "No," before quickly correcting, "Not yet." He gets out of the chair, and kneels across from Charles. Then he touches Charles's shoulder, guiding him to the floor. 

Charles is surprised by the gesture, but he has no objections, quickly undoing his own trousers and pulling them down, sighing as his erection touches open air. Erik smiles and pushes up Charles's shirt, then starts planting kisses on his stomach, moving downward. Charles lets out a shuddering sigh, then a gasp as Erik's lips touch the tip of his cock. Charles cranes his neck up to look down and survey the action. "You'll do that," Charles says, "but you won't kiss me on the mouth?"

"I don't recall at the moment," Erik says, giving Charles an almost-out-patience look, "But isn't there something in the manifesto about not _talking_ constantly while on a job?"

"Maybe," Charles says, leaning back into his hands, absurdly confident all of a sudden that he'll get what he wants. "But manifestos are made to be broken."


End file.
